


a hunger for something of a greater kind

by dnc31



Category: Hamilton - Miranda
Genre: Alternate Universe - Ambiguous Office Setting, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Boss/Employee Relationship, Human Disaster Alexander Hamilton, Implied Sexual Content, M/M, Making Out Like Horny Teenagers, Not Beta Read, Older Man/Younger Man, Pining George, Resolved Romantic Tension
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-24
Updated: 2018-02-24
Packaged: 2019-03-10 17:13:54
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,538
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13506099
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dnc31/pseuds/dnc31
Summary: It starts with whiskey and Hamilton on a hot summer evening.





	a hunger for something of a greater kind

**Author's Note:**

> So I got the idea to write this while I was bored in class a while ago and I rushed to write it before I lost inspiration so it's not my best but I'm still proud of it.
> 
> Also, the characters look like the OBC actors and I'd probably put Washington's age around early forties and Hamilton at (earlier?) mid-twenties.
> 
> *Not entirely sure about the rating so don't really question it

It’s a sweltering hot August evening when he invites Hamilton into his office for a drink. By that time of the day, the blazing sun is finally setting, drowning in the horizon. The sky has turned a fiery arrangement of red, orange, and yellow and the setting sun casts shadows into George’s office through the large windows.

All of his employees had gone home by then, back to significant others and children and pets. Except one. And that particular employee was Hamilton, and since neither he nor George had anyone to go home to that evening, it was just the two of them.

“Hamilton,” George says, setting his hand on Hamilton’s shoulder. Hamilton looks up at him with large, attentive brown eyes. “Share a drink with me, my boy. We’ve both been hard at work for hours and I think we need a break.”

“ _But sir_ —” Hamilton begins to protest, and it sounds almost like a childish whine.

“No buts.” George starts his way back to his office and beckons Hamilton over with a quick gesture. “Come on. The last time you got up from your desk was for lunch. _At noon_.”

George walks back into the spacious room and heads to his desk. He seats himself in the chair that sits behind it and sighs in relief. He is old enough that he becomes sore after bending over all day to do his paperwork and the position alleviates much of his discomfort. And doesn’t _that_ thought make him feel better?

Hamilton follows suit and sits down in one of the grey armchairs on the opposite side of the desk.

George pushes all the paperwork on top of his desk to the side and grabs the decanter and two glasses. He can feel Hamilton’s eyes following his every movement as he pours whiskey into the glasses. Hamilton’s gaze doesn’t falter until George pushes one of the glasses toward him. He looks up at George as if he is unsure what to do with the drink. George raises an eyebrow and then takes a sip of his own drink.

“Drink, my boy. It’s good.”

Hamilton continues to look at the drink wearily. George chuckles as Hamilton reaches out for the glass slowly.

The simple action reminds George of the first time Hamilton walked into his office, fresh-faced and eager. With shorter hair and brighter eyes, clad in obvious rookie attire, but no less ardent or ambitious than he is now. Hamilton had been there for an interview, not his first with the office, but his first with George himself. And not even ten minutes in did George knew Hamilton was the right candidate for the job.

At the end of the interview, when George offered the position to him, Hamilton accepted the pen to sign his contract in the same slow fashion as he accepted his drink. Like he was pondering about what to do. It feels like forever ago, though it is barely two years.

Hamilton takes a small sip of the drink and then his nose scrunches up. George tries to hold back a snort but fails, and Hamilton blushes.

He looks cute like that. _Cute_. George scoffs internally. Since when did he use words like that? _God_ , the man Alexander is turning him into.

“It’s, it’s–uh, it’s good, sir,” Hamilton says and it is such a lie that George almost rolls his eyes. He knows Alexander doesn't like it but is only saying he does to please George. To make him happy. 

Sometimes Hamilton does this particular _thing_ that he is doing now. Where he tries his hardest to please George and dials down his personality to the point of him being almost unrecognizable.

George knows that this is probably the dream of every boss with an employee like Hamilton. (Though he doubts there are many of those out there.) But George hates this side of Hamilton.

Hamilton is not _timid_ or _quiet_. He is not _passive_ or _docile_. But that is exactly what this side of Hamilton is.

Regular Hamilton is brash and loud. He can be impudent beyond belief and is as fervent as a raging fire. He is cocky and argumentative. He will shamelessly tear anyone a new one if they so much as _dare_ to counter his points and arguments. And that is what made George hire Hamilton for this job. It is what he most enjoys about Hamilton’s personality. 

But thankfully, this side of Hamilton is as rare as the man actually taking a break and it is just as short-lived.

The two of them drift into a comfortable silence for a few minutes after that. Hamilton gets up at some point, most likely to watch the sunset or look at the books George has in the case of the corner of the room. George isn't entirely sure though. He’s watching Hamilton but not quite paying attention. He's busy staring off into space. 

 _'You mean too busy staring at Alexander’s ass_ ’, his subconscious supplies. And suddenly George is coughing and sputtering into his drink, surprised that he would even _think_ that. Hamilton rushes over to George.

“Sir, are you okay?” He asks, concern lacing his voice.

George gives Hamilton a small smile and nods. “Yes. My drink just went down the wrong way,” he says. It’s a blatant lie, but if Hamilton notices, he says nothing.

He nods and then sets his glass, still almost entirely full, on George’s desk. He returns to what he was doing, which evidently was browsing the books in George’s “library”. If Hamilton ever wanted to borrow any books George would gladly lend him any one of them wanted, would let him take any of them. Truthfully, George would do anything for the man. It was starting to become a problem.

“Sir, if you would allow me, I would like to inquire about the status of the report I sent in yesterday afternoon,” Hamilton says and turns around from the bookcase to look at George, a hopeful look on his face.

Even when he is supposed to be relaxing, Hamilton can't stop thinking about work. In a way it’s funny, George supposes, that this young man, barely a few years out of college, is practically a workaholic.

“Hamilton, we are relaxing. For the love of God, _please_ do not talk about work.”

“Oh. I’m sorry. Sir.” Hamilton tacks the title at the end on like an afterthought, but George doesn’t care. It's not really disrespectful. He can’t even count the amount of times he has told Hamilton to call him George or _at least_ Washington. George finds the title unnecessary, but Hamilton insists.

Hamilton turns around, clearly embarrassed. He steps toward the windows and gazes at the sky. After a few moments, his tense body relaxes.

George takes a sip of his drink and he studies Hamilton—no, Alexander, he will always be Alexander in situations like this— as the younger man stares out the window. He has a slight frame, tiny compared to George, and looks even smaller with his shoulders slumped. Alexander’s dark hair is tied up in a messy bun at the crown of his head and it draws attention to the dark, almost purplish circles under his eyes. He had discarded his tie and suit jacket hours ago and along with that, undone the top two buttons on his shirt. The fatigue on his face is evident and his appearance is a dead give away that he is running on only coffee. To put it plainly, Alexander looks _exhausted_. 

Regardless, Alexander is still breathtaking to George. He is beautiful in a way that is so uniquely Alexander, George can’t even describe it. Even more, he is brilliant. Alexander is not just a pretty face, he is one of the most intelligent people George knows. And his best employee.

Which is why George cannot destroy the carefully built relationship he has formed with Hamilton. In his head, Alexander and Hamilton are two distinct personalities, two separate entities. If he were to jeopardize or ruin their relationship, he wouldn’t just lose Hamilton, he would lose Alexander too. And that would _hurt_.

And at this point, George is far past worrying about the age difference between them or what damage a romantic relationship could do for their reputations as boss and employee. 

Now it is a matter of Hamilton being so reluctant to become close to anyone when he was first hired. It is a matter of him only opening up after many painstaking months of George stealthily trying to establish some type of connection that wasn’t a hundred percent professional. Their relationship is complex. It involves meticulous word choices, and they aren’t exactly friends, but George is grateful it even exists in the first place.

If he is being honest, it is truly a matter of Alexander just not wanting George, regardless of how much George wants him.

He is snapped out of his thoughts by the shuffling of Hamilton’s dress shoes on the hardwood floor.

“The sunset, it’s beautiful,” Hamilton says in awe. “Do you usually sit here and watch it?”

George realizes Hamilton is staring right at him.

He prays to whatever deity is up above that Hamilton didn’t notice George admiring him. And there’s a chance, he thinks, because the younger man is perceptive, but only when it comes to certain things. When he and Jefferson yell at each other during meetings, he can pick up every little thing that sets Jefferson off. But when Friedrich von Steuben flirts with Alexander in the break room or when John Laurens became a little too handsy to still be platonic, he never notices a thing.

In an instant, a possessive wave washes over George. He wants to wrap his arms around Alexander’s slim waist, press him against the wall, and kiss him until they are both breathless. Wants to bury one hand in Alexander’s hair and run the other over his body. Wants to hear his boy moan and plead and whimper. Wants to tell Alexander he is George’s and that he will protect and take care of him. And then wants to show him off in front of all their coworkers- and _oh_ , doesn’t that sting. Because Alexander is not his, and he never will be. But _goddamn_ , does George want him to be.

Shit. Alexander had asked him a question.

“Sometimes,” George replies and smiles fondly at Hamilton. “But when I do, it distracts me from my work. I tend to get too deep in my thoughts.”

‘ _Because they are about you_ ,’ George wants to add but doesn’t. ‘ _Because the sunset is beautiful and breathtaking, and it reminds me of you. Because the colors are loud and fiery, just like you, but in the most glorious way_.’

Alexander gives a soft laugh at his response. A beautiful sound it is. A sound George has only heard once or twice before in his life. Reserved only for moments when Alexander is in a state of true tranquility. Which is practically never.

There is a brief moment of silence before George stands up from the chair and walks over to Alexander. He stands right behind him, no doubt close enough for the younger man to hear the drum-like pounding of George’s heart in his chest. He isn’t sure of what he’s doing. He feels like he has lost control of his body and someone else is directing his every move.

His hands fall to Alexander’s waist and he squeezes, hard enough to give way to an underlying meaning, but not too much. Alexander gasps and all but collapses to the touch. And– _oh_ , George didn’t see that coming. So perhaps what he feels for Alexander isn’t totally unrequited.

“Alexander,” he says. George pulls the Alexander against his chest and the smaller man hums contently.

“Yes?” The boy replies with a mischievous edge to his voice. He twists out of George’s grip and starts to grind his ass against George’s hips. Heat coils in the lower regions of George’s body and he groans, growing hard in his trousers.

George knows he should pull away. Knows he should apologize for his actions and send Alexander away. Knows he should go back to his work or go home and forget about this, forget about _him_. But when it comes to Alexander Hamilton, he has no restraint.

He tugs Alexander's hair of its bun and combs his hands through the boy’s hair. Soft moans leave the boy’s mouth. Pushing Alexander’s hair out of the way, George starts to plant small kisses on his neck.

“Sir, please!” Alexander gasps. Even though the Alexander uses it regularly, the title sparks something inside George.

“My boy, what exactly are you asking for here?” George asks. 

" _For you to touch me!_ ” Alexander whines.

“But I am touching you, Alexander,” George teases.

And he doesn’t know if it’s the use of Alexander’s first name or the tone of his voice, but before George can process what is happening, there are lips on his, nipping and biting, and hands clutching his shirt.

The kiss is intense. It is all-consuming. It is hungry. It is everything George has wanted since the first time he laid eyes on Alexander. They kiss for what seems like forever.

Well, that is until Alexander slowly pulls away and looks up at George with a swollen-lipped, sly smile. “You have no idea how long I’ve waited to do that,” he murmurs.

“You have no idea how long _I’ve_ waited to do that,” George replies. He smiles at Alexander and the younger man's face flushes.

“Since the first time I walked in your office.”

“Since the first time you walked in my office,” George agrees and then chuckles.

A rapid vibration sounds from the phone in George’s pocket. He gives Alexander an apologetic look and pulls it out to see who is calling. It’s Henry Knox. George knows he should answer the call, it’s probably urgent. Knox never calls his personal cell. He clicks ignore anyway. Alexander is far more important.

He goes back to kissing his boy, hungry and desperate.

And George has always had a yearning, a desire, a _hunger_ , for something of a greater kind with Alexander, but he never thought it would be like this. Because _this,_ this is _so much better_ than he could ever have imagined.

George pauses for a moment and smiles. He not sure if it is a smile of joy or satisfaction or even pleasure, but it stretches across his face, as wide as it can be. He looks down at Alexander, who is much shorter than him, and his boy whines, opening his eyes and clutching George harder. Suddenly George realizes his smile is one of bliss. Because this is exactly where he always wants to be. With his boy.

And maybe that thought makes him realize he is a little in love with Alexander Hamilton. But George is okay with that.

The pleading look in Alexander’s eyes tells George he is allowed to indulge this once. To finally take what he has wanted for the longest time.

And so he does take. He takes, and he takes, and he _takes_.

They never get around to finishing those drinks.

**Author's Note:**

> come find me on tumblr @whamfan


End file.
